


It's Fine, Really

by fortymaliks



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:37:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortymaliks/pseuds/fortymaliks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something will remind Nick that Harry's still so unfathomably young, something that makes their age difference of nine years seem like a ridiculously wide gap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Fine, Really

Most of the time it's fine, really. Harry's sentences are laced with a maturity that Nick isn't anywhere near yet, and Harry's reasonable and kind, and really, it doesn't bother him in the slightest. Usually.

Sometimes, though.

Something will remind Nick that Harry's still so unfathomably young, something that makes their age difference of nine years seem like a ridiculously wide gap. Like in the morning, when Nick's woken up but Harry hasn't yet, one of the perks of being the host of a morning show. Harry's face is quiet, soft, when Nick watches him, sleeping like a baby. The thought always makes Nick squirm and get out of bed a little faster than he needs to.

Or when Harry's on the phone with his mother, and she's just checking in, asking after Louis and Nick, asking him how his flat is. Harry says, “yes, mum, I've been doing the washing up”, all annoyed, and it hits Nick just how much of a teenager Harry actually is. These are things that get to him, as much as he'd like to say they don't.

Nick forgets, though, when Harry's palms are against the flushed skin of his hips, pressing him down into the mattress, keeping him still. There's nothing innocent about the words Harry uses; the unfiltered, unabashed _filth_ he whispers into Nick's ear right after he mouths his way up Nick's jawline, stuttering their hips together with more control than Nick had at Harry's age.

Harry works Nick over with slow, purposed moves that take him right to the edge, and leave him panting like he's the one who might lose it too early. He feels Harry's grin against his collarbone, lips dragging all sticky and soft, and he closes his eyes, because it really just isn't fair.

This kid is going to be the death of him. The way he can be serious, when he needs to, eyes silently assessing a situation. The way he can give advice years beyond himself. The way he loves everybody, men, women, friends, fans. These are the things that Nick loves about Harry Styles.

Nick laughs off the jokes, the comments, the rumours about his age, and that time he was mistaken for Harry's father in public. He grins through it all, invites Harry round the station, lets himself be photographed with Harry's thumb and forefinger curling around his wrist while they walk together in a park on a Saturday. He does all this while laughing it off, commenting that “age ain't nothing but a number”, listening to Harry's drawling chuckle in response.

“Fuck them all,” Harry always tells him, curls falling loose from his beanie, mobile clutched tightly in the hand that isn't holding tight to Nick's.

“Nah,” Nick tells him back, squeezing tighter. “Just fuck me.”


End file.
